Eyesore
by Remington Rand
Summary: Based on a special litle Wizards of Waverly Place episode. A little ridiculous and definitely cute. RR, please!


**::1::**

Draco Malfoy was not a morning person.

He preferred the excitement that night tended to bring, its secrecy and safety an added bonus for those who wanted an illicit rendezvous or two—with what or whom was not his business. Why, even the muggles' telly agreed with him—how many films had shown thin, lithe girls with perfect makeup, fuckable mouths, glittering gleaming eyes? How many films had illustrated perfection—in the form of sex or abduction or murder or Merlin knows what else?

Most people looked ghastly in the morning. It was a given, what with dried spit on the corners of lips, crusty mucus ebbing from bleary, bloodshot eyes, hair disheveled, morning breath that smelled worse than rot. There was no romanticizing the earliest part of a person's day—people tended to look like shit, and that was all there was to it.

Most of his house knew well enough by now to avoid him until mid-morning; he was not beyond casting a stinging hex or two for something as much as _looking _at him wrong. Because Draco, you see, had the vain and shallow requirement of needing to seem beautiful at all parts of the day.

This meant morning was required to be spent alone, and anyone who dared to interfere would suffer greatly indeed.

So by the time he awoke, it was silent. His slender feet touched the cold floor, causing his toes to recoil slightly. A long, hollow yawn rumbled from his throat as he fetched his socks, slipping them on and hopping to his closet at the same time. There was a loud _thump _as one foot hit a gnarled peg, and the distinct utterance of curses after.

The tall blonde huffed, grabbing his robe and a set of underclothes blindly, muttering about how the most insignificant limbs had the most sensitive nerve endings. It was inconvenient, and Draco disliked inconvenience.

His mind was on his throbbing toe for the remainder of his time; he pulled on his garments without a second look. It was all habit by now anyway; he knew the routine like the back of his hand. With the exception of stubbing his toe, of course.

Walking to a mirror in long strides, Draco began fixing his hair. He paused. Frowned, while staring into his own silver eyes. There was something wrong. He stepped closer, breath fogging up the glass as he did so.

He pressed an index finger to his chin, prodding the skin there. Surely it wasn't what he thought it was.

There, resisting the prodding of his fingernail, existed a hideous zit. No, not just hideous. A giant, bulbous eyesore. And Draco Malfoy was never an eyesore, nor did they have any right to exist on his skin.

He had to resist the urge to squeal and fan his face. It was a pity he was terrible at healing spells, it could come in handy at times like these.

He sighed, applying glamour, and mentally telling himself to remember to check it later.

**::2::**

As he strode confidently down to the Great Hall, the stares that followed made him smirk. Because, really, who _wouldn't _stare at him? His smirk deepened as he caught the glance of Saint Potter, pretending to be very interested in whatever Granger was muttering on about. Even _Potter, _the apparently immortal prat of Gryffindor, couldn't keep his eyes off of him.

There was a victorious sort of air around him now, and Malfoy was even cheerier than usual when he arrived at his seat. Pansy noticed this, and smirked, eyes glittering beneath the piles of makeup. Why she bothered wearing the muggle stuff, he never understood. But she was hardly alone—a bunch of Ravenclaw first-years had brought tons of the stuff and began selling it for any girl who ran out. Quite the brilliant business plan, if he could say so.

"Well, well," she said, preening her hair as she spoke, "Nice of you to finally join us today, Draco. Care to explain what's gotten your face to radiate such _joy?_"

"Nope," Draco said smugly, around bites of an omelet, "I'm just enjoying being _gorgeous." _

"Aren't we all, dear?" Pansy agreed, looking far too pleased with herself.

Draco noted the expression and sighed. "What did you do?"

She feigned innocence, fluttering her eyelashes. "_Do?_ Why, I didn't _do_ anything."

He began to stare at his breakfast in hesitation, wondering what, exactly, had occurred before he had arrived. He looked at her again, frowning.

"You've got that look again, Pans. _What _did you do? I swear, if you touched my food—"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "I didn't touch your beloved food, I promise on my mother's grave."

"Your mother isn't dead, Pansy dear," Draco reminded her, mocking her girlish tone. He picked up his fork again, seemingly assured enough by the girl beside him.

Pansy waved her hands like that mere fact didn't matter. "It's the thought that counts. Anyway, you'll see why I'm pleased soon enough. Now eat up before the show starts."

Blaise said something, and Pansy giggled superficially, making him wince. She really needed to take some acting lessons.

Crabbe and Goyle were in front of him, squabbling about Merlin-knew-what. Malfoy threw a grape at the pair to get them to stop slapping hands like a couple of benders, but it went unnoticed.

Malfoy just sighed and ignored them. It had always been a secret suspicion of his that they had some sexual tension, anyway.

"Hey!" Pansy snapped, "Will you two stop acting like a couple of morons and let me listen to the rather _enticing _story that Blaise is entertaining me with?!"

_That _proved to be more effective than the grape he'd thrown earlier, and Draco wondered idly _what _Blaise was telling her that was so interesting.

Before he could ask, giggling erupted throughout the hall and Draco found himself straining to see what was so funny.

The familiar voice of Weasley echoed through the hall. He had a rather screeching whinge, Draco thought, and it was irritating. But he ignored it and watched, amusement bubbling joyously through his body.

"_Her-mione!" _He howled, horror etched across his face, hands gingerly touching the top of his head. He jumped _and _screamed like a little girl with the ears atop his head twitched. The short tail flicked back and forth in a combination of disbelief and anger.

Granger was saying something, but Draco wasn't sure what.

"I'm a _weasel!" _screeched Ron, in response to whatever his mudblood girlfriend had said.

Her thick hair just shook with her when she sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. She grabbed his arm and began pulling him out of his seat, past the hooting laughter of his peers.

"Well, now you match your nickname, Weasel!" shouted Draco, only smirking at the glares he got from the three Gryffindors.

"Was I right?" asked Pansy, as the hall settled down.

McGonagall had left the room abruptly, trailing after the trio with that wretched look on her face. Draco snorted. She'd throw a fit about it later, he was quite sure. They might even conjure a _meeting _out of it, because it wasn't like _Potter _had enough perks in his life.

Snape was trying to hide an expression of amusement—to others, it was well hidden. To Draco, it was painfully evident.

"You were right," he said finally, still quite amused.

She smirked, patting his shoulder gingerly.

"But however did you _do _it?" asked Draco, curiosity finally rising.

Pansy just winked at him. "Oh, I don't kiss and tell, Draco. But let's just say I had some help."

Draco pouted. Pansy _always _told him how she concocted her schemes.

"Don't pout, it's very unbecoming," she chided, much like his mother would.

Stupid girl.

**::3::**

It was in Potions that everything had completely unraveled and karma had gone and bitten his arse. Rumors about what had caused the Weasley spectacle had circled around Hogwarts, and it turned out, unsurprisingly, that Draco Malfoy was at the top of the suspect list, his fellow Slytherins sharing the parchment alongside him.

They had no proof, of course, but Draco was not about to deny such a beautifully-executed plan—one that _should _have been his, but somehow Pansy had grown brains without him noticing. It seemed that he finally had a bit of competition.

The _start _of Potions was quite lovely—Snape was feeling vindictive today, more than usual, and seemed to have found some new insults to fling at the Golden Trio. Watching Weasely turn red, Granger sputter, and Potter make enough remarks to put Gryffindor behind Slytherin for House Cup amused him greatly.

It was a pity that Potter, perfect sodding Potter, was a lion. He was still in complete disarray, but Draco could have sorted all that out years ago if he'd been a snake instead. The boy could be quite handsome, if he'd just put on some clothes that _fit _and tamed that wild mess of dark hair (he suspected there were numerous generations of the same lice living there).

The only thing Potter couldn't screw up, it seemed, was his eyes—those beautiful, glittering emeralds that lit every time Draco crossed his path… Oh, it did odd things to his stomach when he realized the _he _was the only one who could bring Potter to such a state of snarling, animalistic rage, a person no longer hiding behind his reputation and expectations. Draco was the only person that was able to make Potter act as _himself. _

Draco did not feel anything for the Gryffindor that he saw in public places—that Harry was boring and shackled, his personality reduced to something he'd likely planned beforehand.

The blonde did, however, feel an unyielding passion for the predatory creature the usually stupid Gryffindor could become in a fit of rage. _That _was the Potter he wanted for himself—a roaring, dangerous beast, one that was unpredictable but ultimately what made Draco feel the most passionate.

He wondered, idly, if he'd always been a masochist or if he'd adopted the trait when he met Potter.

"You have one hour to complete these potions. I will fail you if you manage to ruin my classroom. And Longbottom, I suggest you don't touch a thing, unless you'd _like _to fail."

Ah, good old Severus. The man made Potions comedy hour for all of the Slytherins.

Draco watched Potter in the corner of his eye, his gaze following the slim hips, nicely rounded arse that he imagined was there, the rippled tendons in his forearms as he began to cut a newt's tail… Silly lion, he was supposed to _crush _it.

"Draco, come on! I can't do this without you!" whined Pansy, successfully cutting into Draco's ogling. He scowled and began to crush the tail, grimacing at the slimy liquid that oozed out as a result.

The next few minutes had passed quietly, with Draco wordlessly adding ingredients and Pansy stirring as she stared a few tables over, at Blaise. He raised a brow, but chose not to comment—the girl always tended to want what she couldn't have; what else would a rich, spoiled girl want, after all? Blaise, was, in fact, quite smitten with a Ravenclaw. Draco didn't understand it, but he supposed his own attraction to _Potter _wouldn't make sense to the either of his housemates, so he just chalked it up to being a Slytherin thing.

Then the most horrifyingly squeaky voice emanated from somewhere—Draco couldn't place it, as it _seemed _to be in front of him, but he saw nothing.

"_Tee-hee!" _yelled out the mystery voice shrilly, _"I know all of your secrets, Draco. Potter? _Really?"

Pansy whirled around, eyes wide, horror speaking great volumes in that simple stare. "Draco, you…you…"

"Spit it out, you stupid girl!" hissed Draco impatiently, eyeing the other stares uncomfortably.

"You, _Draco, think Potter would be a good shag! Isn't that just _hilarious!"

"No, I don't!" squeaked Draco, his face flaring up, contradicting his former statement.

Pansy gulped, trying to keep hysterical giggles from bubbling out of her mouth, and whispered, _"Your pimple is _talking."

It was in that moment that Draco felt something akin to complete and absolute anguish. Nevermind that Malfoys weren't _supposed _to have blemishes, they _also _weren't supposed to have their secrets exposed to the world, and this stupid pimple had broken both of those rules in a very short span of time.

So he did what he was so very good at. He bolted.

**::4::**

Malfoys also did not cry in hysterics, hyperventilating at the sight of their reflections in that _wretched _mirror. Malfoys were supposed to preen and feel joy at their amazing looks.

Draco did neither of these things, and instead wailed incoherently about how he would have to transfer to _Durmstrang _where that horrid Victor Krum and his similarly-minded lackeys attended, and Draco would be the only beautiful one and be reduced to a Granger-like state. He didn't want books for friends!

He was unsure of how long he had been in the bathroom, sniveling like a first-year, but Pansy had come to his rescue. She looked at him knowingly, making him splash his blotchy face with cold water and told him to _stop _and breathe normally or she'd just leave and laugh at him like everyone else was.

That just made him wail harder.

Pansy rolled her eyes and murmured something, pressing the tip of her wand to his chin.

And that disgusting, horrible _blemish _was gone. Draco stared at his friend in wonder, his eyes expressing a mixture of regret, gratitude, and soppy relief.

"You really should have come to me, Draco. This whole thing could have been avoided," the girl sighed, patting his head as he leaned in to wail more. Bless his heart, the boy was more feminine that _she _was, and she had _breasts, _for Merlin's sake.

"Pans," he sniffled, wiping his face, "I'm going to have to transfer, you know, and end up like _Granger _and…and—"

She wasn't sure what he was babbling about, but Pansy had long ago learned to just smile and nod with sympathy.

"Would you like to go to the common room? I'll bring you lunch, we could eat together and talk about all the different ways we could get back at that _disgusting _Weasley."

It was Weasley. Not only had he managed to deliver a spell without missing, it had _worked. _Rage filled his very core and Malfoy found himself rising, disentangling himself from Pansy.

"_No," _he snarled, causing Pansy to take a step back nervously, "That _bastard _is going to _pay." _

"Draco, Draco, let's make a plan first. I promise, it will be good and fitting and no one will remember what happened to you—"

An icy smirk crossed the boy's face. Pansy sighed. She knew that face, and it was best to just let Draco do as he wished. She supposed she would need to steal some chocolates later, for when it blew up in the Slytherin's face.

With the march of a soldier, Draco left the bathroom, his mannerisms warning all that crossed his path to _stay out of his way. _

**::5::**

He had never reached Weasley. A hand had grabbed him, pulling him to the safety of one of the castle's more secluded corners, one that had no doubt seen plenty of groping and snogging.

"You know," the voice was breathy and soft, hitting Draco's cheek gently, "that was quite possibly the least sexy way to show me you were interested," the familiar lips curved into a smile.

Draco, with the eloquence of a Weasley, gaped.

"_P-Potter?!" _He finally managed to sputter out, as the olive hand wrapped around his own trembling one.

"That _is _my name, though I rather prefer Harry," he said, chuckling, brushing a few stray blonde hairs out of the taller boy's face.

Draco just gaped again.

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, a slight crease in his face as his lips turned down, "are you really going to make me _ask _for a kiss?"

Malfoy finally lifted his eyes to meet the green ones he had spent far too much time imagining about. An impish grin grew on Potter's face, one that was ridiculously manipulative, with the amount of adorableness it conveyed.

His pale hand wrapped around the Gryffindor tie, and he pulled the shorter boy's neck closer, smirking as his breath hitched.

And their lips met. It was soft, so impossibly soft, something Draco never even thought existed, and then a low moan escaped Potter's mouth and suddenly they were all hard angles, ripping at each other clothes to feel _closer, _to get to that beautiful nirvana they were so sure existed if their sodding clothes weren't in the way.

Oxygen, Draco thought irritably, was a pesky thing. They drew back, foreheads resting against the other's, breaths heavy, red, wet lips and flushed faces reminding each other that this was very, very real.

"So," Draco began, his voice rough and scratchy.

"So," echoed Harry coyly, "I think we should have dinner together, seeing as how you probably don't want to go to the Great Hall, and then have a fabulous snog after."

"Won't your caretakers miss you?" snarked Draco, but his smile took most of the bite out of it.

"They'll live," Harry breathed, and then pulled him close for another kiss.

**::END::**

_So this oneshot's been waiting to be completed for a while. I got the idea from WoWP—the episode where Justin has a talking zit. _

_Yup. Review please!_

_xx_


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